


Las Vegas Envy

by CrazyKater



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Episode Related, Jealous Starsky, Las Vegas Strangler, M/M, Other, a little bit angsty, a little bit cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-27 23:46:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5069560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazyKater/pseuds/CrazyKater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A substitute scene of sorts. After returning--a passed out-- Jack to his apartment. Starsky feels jealous of Hutch's relationship with his 'old buddy'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Las Vegas Envy

**Author's Note:**

> Review are like puppies and sunshine in my life... If you liked it let me know... Please? ;)

[ ](http://s36.photobucket.com/user/kaytree8/media/104253F9-BD33-4BCD-BAB6-32E3FB530A19_zpsrmkxlja5.jpg.html)

 

Opening Jack’s unlocked apartment door, Starsky sighed heavily.

Taking in the fancy apartment he scoffed. For guy who didn’t have an income Jack didn’t seem to want for anything. Everything in the man’s life was over-the-top. His devil-may-care attitude, his ability to throw back alcohol like it was water, and his need to pull Hutch back into the ‘good-old days’ of their friendship.

Hutch fireman carried his high school best friend to bedroom. Scowling in the doorway, Starsky watched Hutch place Jack in the bed, remove his shoes, and cover him with a blanket.

“Well, I hope he’s cozy,” Starsky growled.

Pulling himself upright, Hutch turned to exit the room but was taken aback by his partner’s piercing stare and deep frown.

“Uh, oh,” Hutch whispered his voice tired and heavy with drunkenness. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked, ushering Starsky out of the doorway, and closing the bedroom door shut behind them.

“Nothin!” Starsky replied loudly, annoyed with his inability to keep his aggravation to himself and Hutch’s current state of drunkenness.

“Shhhhh!” Hutch reprimanded his index finger flying up to touch his lips. “Inside voice,” he prompted, then—finding the statement ridiculous—irrupted in sporadic giggles.

“Now it’s your turn to shut up.” Starsky glared throwing himself heavily on the couch. He made a face and ran his fingers through his unruly hair. “You’re gonna wake him up. And then we’re gonna have to follow him all over hell… again.”

Kicking his shoes of angrily, Starsky crossed his arms, then uncrossed them. The last thing he wanted was to take another trip down memory lane. It was early, he was tired, and if he didn’t get some sleep soon, he was pretty sure he was gonna do something irrational. Like push Jack off the balcony of the building.

“Oh, him?” Hutch pointed his thumb to the bedroom door and grinned, oblivious to Starsky’s mounting tension. “Believe me, Starsk, after eight drinks and whatever it was he threw back in the men’s room, he’s done for the night. He’s crashing… hard.”

And just like that, Starsky’s anger multiplied. His head snapped up, he looked at Hutch his face reflecting a mixture of concern and irritation.

“When was that?” he demanded throwing up a hand. “And where was I?”

“What?”

Wreaking of booze and beer, Hutch sank next to Starsky on the couch. Their knees touched, something that should have been comforting. Instead, Starsky found it infuriating. He was already holding on to his temper by a thread and secret bathroom trips full of hits of unmentioned drugs and god only knew what else was too much to handle.  

“Where was I?” Starsky repeated, his voice hard... “When Jack was hittin’ it in the bathroom? Did you join in on that fun too?”

Hutch may have been inebriated but he wasn’t too far gone to react to what Starsky was implying. His lips in a firm line, he pulled his leg away from Starsky’s and crossed his arms indignantly.

“How the fuck should I know where you were? What am I your keeper,” he seethed. “And did I take any?” he glared at Starsky, his face hardening and eyes ablaze. “Christ, Starsky, I can’t believe you would even ask me that!”

“I wouldn’t have to ask if you’d just tell me in the first place!” Starsky pulled away and moved to the opposite end of the couch.

He didn’t really think Hutch would have joined Jack in recreational drug use and he regretted the question now, but he was angry that Hutch hadn’t shared the detail about Jack earlier. It would have explained some of the man’s strange behavior—instead Hutch had chosen to keep the detail to himself, and it made Starsky wonder what else Hutch was keeping to himself. What other secrets of Jack’s was Hutch privy too and how many of them did they share?

“I just did!” Hutch defended throwing his hands up in the air. “I swear… you are acting so god-damn strange—“

“Jesus, Hutch,” Starsky interrupted. The drug detail awakening more brutal worries in his mind, he ignored his partner’s statement. “We’re on a job ya know!?” 

“Yeah, I know!” Hutch’s face scrunched indigently. “And we’re doing _the job_.”

Starsky scoffed. Yeah, Hutch was _doing_ the job alright. And he was so good at it that Starsky had felt like a third wheel—an outsider—since the three of them had been sprung from jail.

“Hutch,” Starsky scowled, his voice dangerous. “I’m doing the job. I don’t know what it is you’re doing.”

“What do you mean by that?” Hutch demanded angrily. He had been contributing pulling his weight. Just because he had succumbed to Jack’s demand that he have a good time and had gotten a bit drunk didn’t mean he was any less committed to their undercover assignment than his partner. Besides, they were in Vegas and they did have a very specific part to play. “Starsky, I’m just as far in this one as you are!”

“Maybe more,” Starsky grumbled.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means, I have had just about enough of you two! My best buddy this and lifeguard duty that. Here I am sufferin’ through all these old stories—that I don’t give two shits about—watchin’ the two of you carrying on,” Starsky fumed. He pointed at the bedroom door. “Christ, why don’t you just go in there and suck him off? Get it over with.”

“Because he’s unconscious!” Hutch shot back angrily, then cringed. He hadn’t meant to say something so crass—and downright inaccurate—but this discussion coupled with multiple beverages Jack had insisted he drink left him struggling to hold on to his temper and clarity over the situation.

His mouth agape, Starsky remained quiet but his eyes reflected hurt then sparkled with resentment.

“Shit,” Hutch breathed. “Baby, I didn’t mean—“

“I’m sure you didn’t. You never say things you don’t mean,” Starsky interrupted icily. Turning away from Hutch, he set livid eyes on the closed bedroom door.

Stung once again by the harshness of his partner’s words, Hutch swallowed hard. Well, at least they were even now. Hurtful accusations traded for insensitive sarcasm, and all it had cost them was the ease of each other’s company.

As Starsky remained silently fixated on the bedroom door, Hutch worried about his partner’s controlled anger. A quietly livid Starsky was a dangerous Starsky. Usually the man was firecracker. Volatile and explosive until soothed by the right words. Too bad he’d spat out the wrong ones at the worst time, Hutch mused. This could have been a quiet calming of Starsky’s insecurities but now it was most definitely going to be a thing.

“I would _never_ blow Jack,” Hutch stated quietly. Leaning forward he rubbed at his neck with his palm. His eyes finding the apartment’s front door, he hung his head and closed his eyes firmly.

This conversation was much more serious and private than Hutch would have liked given that Jack’s front door was wide open. He was sure they didn’t have too much to worry about, though. The hour was incredibly early and the hallway had been deserted when they had made the trek to the fourth story apartment.

But Starsky must have been sharing Hutch’s anxiety of being overheard, because he pulled himself off the couch, and padded to front door. Finding the hallway empty, he pushed the door closed and turned the deadbolt.

“Have you?” Starsky breathed suddenly, still facing the door. His hand lingered on the handle tightly as if to ground himself if the answer was too painful.

“No.”

“I don’t know if I believe that.”

“Why?”

“The way you two are together. And you said it yourself.” Letting go of the handle Starsky turned. Looking at Hutch he tilted his head and shrugged. “He was your best friend.”

Hutch’s mouth fell open at the words. And it was then his fuzzy brain put all the pieces of Starsky’s outburst together. Starsky wasn’t angry about the undisclosed trip to the bathroom, his ill-chosen words, or even the case. Hutch was fairly certain his partner wasn’t angry at all. Starsky was afraid. Afraid of who Jack had been to Hutch in the past and who he could be to him now.

“ _Was_ , babe,” Hutch smiled sadly. “Come here.”  He pat the area of the couch next him, inviting Starsky back into his space.

Starsky stood rooted by the door. Struggling with the desire to hold on to his anger but also wanting to crawl into his partner’s arms and forget the whole thing. Seeing Hutch with Jack had alerted him to something he’d always known but never spent too much time thinking about. Hutch hadn’t always belonged to him.

Hutch had grown up in the Midwest. He’d gone to college. He’d been married and done about a thousand other things that didn’t concern or include Starsky, and it had been okay before. But now, after seeing Hutch and Jack—his partner’s old best friend, his buddy, his pal— Starsky had been given a slight glimpse of who Hutch had _been._ And Starsky didn’t recognize this new, old version of Hutch but he found himself wanting to know more, and resentful of Jack because he seemed to know him so well.

“Please?” Hutch added his eyebrows shooting up earnestly. “I’m sorry, okay. Jack’s just friend, but I’m sorry for not telling you about the bathroom thing, or for making you feel more included in this.”

Starsky lingered for a moment. “I can’t believe you danced with him,” Starsky pouted, finally striding to stand in front of his partner. “You would never do that with me.”

“Starsky, there were girls on that dance floor. Jack and I were hardly pressed up against each other.” Hutch reached his hands up, grabbed Starsky by the hips, and pulled him to sit on his lap.

“Yeah, but you’d _never_ do that with me,” Starsky groused adjusting himself on his partner.  It was always a good idea in theory—and Hutch may have been a few inches taller—but sitting in his partner’s lap like a petite woman always left a little to be desired. There just wasn’t enough room.

“You have never asked me to do that with you, at least not somewhere it would be safe.” Hutch paused and groaned as Starsky’s weight shifted one more. “God, you’re heavy,” he complained.

“This was your idea, genius,” Starsky countered rolling his eyes. “I was perfectly fine over by the door.”

 “Oh you were, were you?” Hutch laughed, happy to let the negative mood dissipate.

Starsky adjusted himself once more. Pulling his legs up to rest on the other couch cushions, he shimmied out of Hutch’s arms, and laying himself across the sitting man’s lap, he rested his head on the arm of the couch.

“Are you comfy?” Hutch groused with mock annoyance.

“Uh-huh.” Starsky smiled.

Chucking, Hutch’s shook his head. He reached a hand to card it through Starsky’s curls. They were silent for a few moments before Hutch ventured a serious question.

“You don’t really think I would mess around on you, do you?” His brow furrowed as he watched Starsky’s face become guarded. “Starsky,” he sighed. “Babe, I love you. I wouldn’t do that to you. Not with Jack… Not with anybody.”

Starsky pursed his lips and stare at the ceiling. He swallowed, his emotions suddenly close to the surface. He wanted so badly to assure Hutch that he had known—deep down— he would never be unfaithful, but he couldn’t, because such an admission would require a more detailed explanation of his previous behavior, and that was a conversation for another time and place.

“Do you want to know what I hate about being undercover like this?” Hutch whispered. He rested a hand on Starsky’s chest, rubbing small comforting circles across the thin blue t-shirt.

“What?”

"I always end up missing you.”

Starsky looked at Hutch oddly. "I'm right here blondie," he scoffed. "How can you miss me? I've been here the whole time." 

"I know." Hutch smiled. "I just mean I miss the way we are normally. You feel so far away. Uncover jobs like this never really seem real—“

"It 'cuz they aren't," Starsky interrupted. He threw his hand up in the air and indicated at the lavish apartment. "This ain't us. Fancy suits, gamblin', partyin' all night..." He paused on a yawn. "It's all pretend. Every bit of it."

“Yeah.”

Reaching his hand up, Starsky cupped Hutch’s neck. His index finger rubbed and tapped the smoothness of the skin, igniting something inside of him. Looking up he quickly got lost in the intensity and comfort of Hutch's eyes. "I miss you too ya know," he murmured. 

"What else do you miss?" Hutch breathed. His voice catching on an exhale. He rested his own hand on top of his partner's and squeezed. 

Starsky grinned. Pulling his hand from Hutch's neck he moved to caress his partner's chest. His fingers trailed up and down a few times before making their way up again before pausing to linger and caress the pale skin peeking out of the unbuttoned collar. 

"Guess," Starsky requested coyly as he began expertly unbuttoning the blond's blue shirt with one hand.

"Hmmmm." 

Hutch let out a breath and leaned his head heavy on the back of the couch. He really should stop Starsky's subtle advances but at that moment he didn't care. The fight still fresh in his mind, Hutch longed to lose what little awareness he had in the sensations of the man he loved. 

"Umm," Hutch started then hesitated. His shirt now undone, he found himself distracted by Starsky's drifting hands as they trailed over his chest and came to rest on his sides. 

"I bet I know whatcha miss," Starsky provided deeply. He pulled himself off the couch, leaned to plant a kiss on Hutch's lips, and then sank to his knees.

Pulling his head up right, Hutch stared down at Starsky. Neither said a word. Their eyes meeting with fresh intensity as Starsky's hands made their way to Hutch's belt. He made quick work of undoing it, then the button and zipper of the jeans. Starsky was just about to dip his hand beyond the tight elastic waistband of Hutch's boxers when... 

"Jack! Henderson!” A voice outside shouted and was followed by a firm nock at the door. 

Starsky hung his head and Hutch groaned painfully as the details of their situation came rushing back.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Starsky silently pulled himself off the floor and offered a hand to his sitting partner. 

Grasping the hand tightly, Hutch allowed himself to be pulled from the couch. He held on to the hand for a few seconds—savoring the security it provided—before closing his pants and bucking his belt. Then on a whim, he leaned in and gave his partner a deep loving kiss.

"What was that for?" Starsky whispered as the blond pulled back and moved toward the door. 

"Just taken something to hold on to, babe." Hutch winked and let Ace into Jack's apartment.

 

END 


End file.
